Crime Scene at Cardwell Ranch - B.J. Daniels [24]
Hud felt a chill at just the sight of his father's neat printing, the writing short and to the point.
The judge had been at his annual Toastmasters dinner; his wife, Katherine "Kitty" Randolph, was away visiting her sister in Butte. The judge had returned home early, reason unknown, and was believed to have interrupted an alleged robbery in progress. He was shot twice, point-blank in the heart with a .38-caliber pistol.
A neighbor heard the shots and called the sheriff's department. A young new deputy by the name of Hudson Savage was on duty that night. But when he couldn't be reached, Marshal Brick Savage took the call.
Hud felt his hands begin to shake. He'd known he was going to have to face that night again when he'd come back, but seeing it in black and white rattled him more than he wanted to admit.
Brick reported that as he neared the Randolph house, he spotted two suspects fleeing the residence. He gave chase. The high-speed chase ended near what was known as the 35-mile-an-hour curve, one of the worst curves in the winding canyon road because it ended in a bridge and other curve in the opposite direction.
The suspect driving the car lost control after which the car rolled several times before coming to stop upside down in the middle of the Gallatin River.
Both the driver and the passenger were killed.
Marshal Brick Savage called for an ambulance, wrecker and the coroner before returning to the Randolph house where he discovered signs of a break-in and the judge lying dead in the foyer.
According to Brick's account, evidence was later found in the suspects' car that connected the two to the robbery-murder. The suspects were Ty and Mason Kirk, two local brothers who had been in trouble pretty much all of their lives.
The case seemed cut-and-dried. Except now the murder weapon appeared to have been used in the murder of a woman in a well a good decade before.
Tired and discouraged, he photocopied the file and drove back up the canyon. Still, he couldn't face the small cabin he'd rented. Not yet.
He drove to his office in the deepening snow. His headlights shone on the evergreens along each side of the road, their branches bent under the weight of the snowfall. A white silence had filled the night. The streets were so quiet, he felt as if there wasn't another soul within miles as he neared his office.
Had he made a terrible mistake coming back here, taking the job as marshal even temporarily? It had been instantaneous. When he'd gotten the offer, he'd said yes without a moment's hesitation, thinking it was fate. After the note he'd received, he was coming back anyway. But to have a job. Not just a job, but the job he'd always said he wanted….
He pulled up to the office, turned off the engine and lights, and sat for a moment in the snowy darkness, trying to put his finger on what was bothering him.
Something about the Judge Raymond Randolph murder case. Something was wrong. He could feel it deep in his bones, like a sliver buried under the skin.
As he picked up the copied file from the seat next to him, he had that same sick feeling he'd had when he looked down into the dry well and seen human bones.
* * *
IT WASN'T UNTIL Dana returned home from the bar that she noticed the tracks on the porch. She stopped and turned to look back out through the falling snow.
Someone had been here. The tire tracks had filled with snow and were barely visible. That's why she hadn't noticed them on her way in. Plus she'd had other things on her mind.
But now, standing on the porch, she saw the boot tracks where someone had come to the door. She checked her watch. Too early for it to have been Lanny.
Her breath caught in her throat as she realized the tracks went right into the house. She'd never locked the front door in her life. Just as she hadn't tonight. This was rural Montana. No one locked their doors.
Carefully she touched the knob. It was cold